


a precipice that is not

by Anonymous



Series: a moment, prompted [5]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Emotional Repression, Gen, Hollow is having some Trauma, Pre-Canon, Tiny Babey Hornet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Hollow Knight holds their tiny new sibling, and feels absolutely nothing.
Relationships: The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet
Series: a moment, prompted [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186166
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105
Collections: Anonymous





	a precipice that is not

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FFA for the prompt "100 words of emotional repression".

The king (father, not-father, _do not dwell on this_ ) places the hatchling in the Hollow Knight's hands like the tiny creature is made of glass, and hisses, as if he is afraid of being overhead, "Be gentle, and do not allow them to fall."  
  
It is gentle, and it does not allow them to fall.  
  
The hatchling (the Beast and her kin have taken to calling them the Pale Gift until they earn another name, it remembers) attempts to roam the broad planes of the Hollow Knight's outstretched palms, dragging their fragile little body across chitin on stubby dark legs and claws so small that it can barely feel them. The king, busy already, is not watching, and the room is devoid of retainers, so the Hollow Knight shifts one hand to catch the Gift when they reach the edge of its claws and keep crawling. They reach the end of the next hand a moment later, so it repeats the motion, and they continue unimpeded yet again.  
  
A curious little thing, they must be, in such a strange little world, high off the ground on a floor that moves benevolently ( _usefully_ , not benevolently, for benevolence implies intent) every so often to keep them safe from harm. The Hollow Knight cannot imagine this from their perspective. It cannot ( _should not_ ) imagine anything at all.  
  
(It had never been kept safe from harm, when it was small. It fell as many times as it could be trusted to survive.)  
  
On their third circuit between the Hollow Knight's hands, the Pale Gift seems to become aware they are being held, not merely supported by a ledge or shelf. They turn around in a clumsy little circle, letting their lower legs hang precariously between the Hollow Knight's claws, to stare back up at it with wide, dark eyes.  
  
Their eyes are not familiar eyes; they are gleaming and full rather than concave and empty. It does not see another face, pleading in the dark, clinging to a metal precipice, scrabbling as if to dig a handhold in the surface with its bare claws. The tiles at its feet do not wear masks, accusatory, staring from the floor and walls and ceiling amid chipped horns and fractured sockets.  
  
The world is not shadow, darkness and mist. There is no blinding light calling it above, to climb, no smaller sibling abandoned in its wake. It does not turn away; there is nothing worth turning from. It only follows the king, silent, obedient, no thought or sentiment to slow its steps, and it is everything a vessel must be. (Everything a vessel _is_.)  
  
The Pale Gift makes a tiny peeping sound, black mouthparts darting out from under the chin of their mask. Once again, only wrought silvery metals and polished white stone decorate the palace walls, reflecting lights dimmed for a Deepnest hatchling's sensitive, dark-adjusted eyes. The Gift wriggles in place, digging their claws into gaps in the Hollow Knight's chitin for a better grip, and their body is warm and alive like other bugs are, no chill of void beneath their soft carapace.  
  
The Hollow Knight does not feel a horrible thing in its chest, or tremble, imperceptibly. It only curls its claws a little tighter, to protect its tiny sibling from however far away the floor might be.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by JaxxCapta's _The Spider and The Wyrm_ , and ruthlesslistener's _sweet child of mine_. both are great fics, and make me Very Sad.


End file.
